


Serendipity

by introductory



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Established Relationship, Flash Fic, Illusions, M/M, Public Sex, Rape By Deception, Shapeshifting, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-17 23:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13087251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/introductory/pseuds/introductory
Summary: It's odd to be looking up at Noctis's advisor from this angle:  you're used to towering over everyone you meet, even Noctis's hulking giant of a shield.  Scientia's arms are laden with shopping bags, the weight bringing out the outline of muscle underneath his (frankly hideous) dress-shirt; while he's nowhere near as fetching as Noctis, he's certainly not an unattractive man.  With his hair loose and unstyled, perhaps even handsome.





	Serendipity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [terminus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/terminus/gifts).



> **a:** listen should ardyn fuck ignis against a tree or just stick to blowjobs  
>  **a:** ok for once in my life im going to refrain from ignis getting dicked bc the story doesnt actually call for it but it was a real tough decision  
>  **ash:** i'm glad you made that decision and not me bc i'm not sure i would have had the fortitude  
>  **a:** i dont FUCKJNG know how my brand turned into "things up ignis scientia's ass" but i guess i shouldnt question it
> 
> For [this prompt](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4398.html?thread=7513646) requesting Ardyn hooking up with one of the bros while disguised as Noct. Dedicated to Ash, who is somehow even a worse enabler than Lita. Happy fucking Christmas, my dude.
> 
> Some handwaving re: Ardyn's illusion/shapeshifting powers, as the mechanism is never explained in canon. This is set anywhere between the Disc of Cauthess and Altissia (according to the transcripts, everyone was still calling Noct _Highness_ at this point even though he ought to have been _Majesty_ ). This does **not** include a happy resolution (although you're free to imagine one), so please be forewarned.

You're not intending to sleep with him. Nor with anyone, as a matter of course, and certainly not tonight. No, you simply wanted to observe; you meant to keep to the shadows as you looked upon that sad little group that believes it can best you by strength of will alone: the future King of Lucis snoring inside the tent, his shield awake at his bedside (keeping vigil, and oh, how you miss Irkalla and her broad, steadfast presence, so much you carry part of her with you always, heavy by your side the way she was in life); the excitable blonde with his camera out, pattering on to himself about apertures; and the fourth, the Tenebraean with the knife-sharp gaze --

"Noct," he says in surprise, coming to a halt a few meters to your right. "Gladio told me you'd gone to sleep."

It's odd to be looking up at Noctis's advisor from this angle: you're used to towering over everyone you meet, even Noctis's hulking giant of a shield. Scientia's arms are laden with shopping bags, the weight bringing out the outline of muscle underneath his (frankly hideous) dress-shirt; while he's nowhere near as fetching as Noctis, he's certainly not an unattractive man. With his hair loose and unstyled, perhaps even handsome.

"Well, looks like I'm awake now," you say, the words slipping out in Noctis's flat, toneless drawl. The next time you're incognito you'll take Scientia's form instead; you'd much rather use his crisp if somewhat pompous voice than the awful accent of modern Lucians. Astonishing what two millennia can change for the worse. "What are you up to?"

"Procuring groceries," he says, lifting up the bag. "I took great pains to search for the wakame you like, but I'm afraid it's back to greens for the time being. Please don't make Prompto eat all of yours this time around."

You summon up a laugh. "I'll try." 

"You _will_ try," Scientia tells him. "Else I'll have little other recourse than to disguise all your vegetables from now on, and we'll see how good you are at picking powdered spinach out of your cheesecake."

The Chosen King of Lucis, finicky about vegetables? Laughably immature, yet also somehow charming. You can't help but smile. "I said I'd try, Ignis," you say, expression genuine.

Already you're weaving the necessary magic to make Noctis's advisor forget tonight's brief encounter; best the group not catch on how closely you've been observing them, at least not yet. You'll have to save it for maximum shock value, but you're a patient man; the payoff will no doubt be fantastic.

Scientia takes a few steps closer, setting the shopping bags down on the verdant grass without letting go of the handles. "Is everyone else settled in at the haven?"

You cast a thread over your shoulder, lightning-quick; the others are indeed still at the haven, stationary at last. Dreaming sweetly, you assume, or not-so-sweetly. You turn back to him, and something in the air between you feels heavy with anticipation, settling in your ancient bones. 

"Yeah," you say. "I'm pretty sure."

" _Good_ ," says Scientia, dropping the bags and pulling you close, his mouth on yours before you can say so much as _why_. Aggressive, with quite a bit of tongue: your lips part less out of intent and more out of what you're embarrassed to admit is surprise. So _this_ is what drives Noctis's advisor to such inspiring heights of loyalty. Well, this is certainly worth knowing; the easy familiarity with which he licks into your mouth speaks volumes, as does the way his body trembles against yours, as if he's barely holding himself together.

"Highness, please," says Scientia. His voice is low and deep, rough with lust. "Let me do this for you." And before you can wonder what he means he's dropping to his knees as if his strings were cut, fingers tearing greedily at Noctis's clothes the way a beast tears at a fresh kill.

Goodness. You couldn't possibly have picked a better time to _observe_. You find your own body responding, if somewhat sluggishly, to the other man's unbridled desire; it's been a century at least since you last partook of such earthly pleasures, disused neural pathways flaring to life under his touch. Scientia gets your trousers undone, presses his nose to your cock through thin cloth and  inhales -- so utterly shameless, so delightfully _base_.

This body is still your body, of course. Externalities aside, this is still very much your own flesh and blood, your own cock stirring in the cool night air as he draws you out and mouths at the shaft. You've no idea the length or shape of Noctis underneath his clothes, or how he grooms his pubic hair, if at all; even what style of undergarments he favors -- inconsistencies that would throw off even the most unobservant of lovers. Easy enough to add another layer to the illusion, to lead Scientia to see what he's accustomed to: mortal minds are such fragile, susceptible things, so easily manipulated even by those without the divine power of suggestion. It's a wonder humanity hasn't gone extinct by now if _this_ is what passes for their sharpest.

"Noct," Scientia says, breath hot against your skin. "My king." He kisses the very tip of your cock, licking delicately at the beading moisture, then fits his shapely lips over the head. And oh, but it's _bliss:_ the boy's mouth is searingly hot, cavernous and wet, the likes of which you haven't experienced in several lifetimes. You fail to stifle the moan that rises in your throat; Scientia takes it as encouragement, working his tongue and lips and hand skillfully to bring you to full hardness, his eyes shut tight in concentration. 

And the sounds he's making around your cock -- well. You suspect he's doing this just as much for himself as for Noctis; the arousal rolls off him in nearly palpable waves, and when you reach out to fist his hair he makes such a moan around your cock you're sure they can hear it in Gralea. During your physical lifetime you learned that the most dignified and buttoned-up often had a tendency towards wildness and abandon when it comes to matters of the flesh; you've speculated correctly in this case, and yet it still thrills you, seeing firsthand how _desperate_ Noctis's esteemed advisor is for a cock between his lips. You've now little doubt that when it comes to their more intimate couplings Scientia is the one on his back, thighs parted and trembling around his liege's ribs, moaning deeply with every thrust. The image has you swelling even further into Scientia's mouth, aroused to a degree you'd forgotten was possible. Yes, you'll have to come back to watch the main event; perhaps even participate, circumstances depending. 

Scientia works you with precision and finesse, and soon enough you feel your orgasm coming, a sensation nearly alien in its overwhelming intensity. His eyes snap open as you grasp his chin and before he can react you pull out, twisting your hand over the head once, twice, before spilling hot over his face. By the stars, it's a gorgeous image he makes with your seed streaked white across his face, his spectacles, dripping from the tips of his disheveled hair. You smear some of it with your thumb across the line of one sharp cheekbone before bringing it down to his mouth and pushing in. 

"You're a mess," you say, and his tongue curls around your thumb to clean it off. Again his eyes flutter closed in pleasure: what a delightful submissive he's turning out to be, this one. Noctis has never struck you as terribly dominant but you suppose with a partner such as Scientia he has to be; then again, being on the receiving end of such natural subservience must be a rather addictive experience all its own.

Scientia's tongue laves along the side of your thumb, and on a whim you angle your second and third fingers into his mouth as well, feeling along the ridges of his teeth before pressing down on his tongue, sliding so far into his throat it makes him choke. You stroke the back of his tongue, gentle as a lover; the strangled noise of pleasure he makes is near-indistinguishable from pain. He's clearly aching for release, for contact, his own fingers clutching at his throat and the swell of his pectorals, even as he gags around yours.

One thing you'll say about immortality: you've no refractory period to speak of, if you're particularly in the mood. "N-Noct," says Scientia, sounding dazed as you withdraw your fingers, but his next words are stifled by your cock, fully rigid and dripping with saliva, as you maneuver it back into his mouth and contemplate what next to do. How far can you take this? You imagine you could take him from behind against the rough bark of a tree and he'd thank you for it -- perhaps even _beg_ you for it, if the tears gathering at the corners of his closed eyes are any indication. His right hand presses heavily between his thighs, counterpoint to the furtive movement of his hips, before coming to a halt: more evidence, it seems, that he's deliberately holding out for more. 

"Beautiful," you murmur, quite truthfully. He is not Noctis, nowhere close, and yet the sight of him, debauched and thoroughly used, makes you weak at the knees. With Noctis, you'd like to pin him to a board, drape him in fine silks and precious stones, appreciate his dark, otherworldly beauty for all eternity. His is a beauty to be admired and envied from afar, ultimately untouchable in its crystalline perfection; his advisor is but an earthly diversion, though a rather enchanting one nonetheless.

Once again you fist your hand in Scientia's hair, but this time you drag him forward, throwing him off balance. His eyes widen in panic, hands flying up to your thighs; his throat spasms around the head of your cock, and you pull out and shove back in just to hear that _delicious_ moan. Oh, forget the tree, forget the  plan -- as much as you'd have loved to spend yourself inside his body you're more than happy to spend yourself like this, in that exquisite, perfect mouth. He moans again around your cock, his eyes screwed shut and cheeks aflame, thrusting up against his own palm in search of relief. You tug at his hair and rut into his mouth, your body thrumming head-to-toe with pleasure, and it's then that the tip of Noctis's blade embeds itself six inches into your shoulder. 

You sensed him approaching long before you heard the sound of the blade, of course; you considered your options carefully and, throwing all good sense to the winds, allowed him to score the hit. It stings little more than would a papercut, but you make sure to wince anyway -- a bit of theatrical flair never hurt anyone. Noctis is bearing down on you in an instant, and his shout echoes in the air alongside the electric crackle of Lucian magic.

"Get _away_ from him, Ignis!"

"Noct -- " Scientia draws his mouth off your cock in slow bewilderment. "How -- "

"Yes, Noct -- how indeed?" You card your fingers through Scientia's untidy hair, feeling him shudder into, then away from, your touch. "It seems you two have _quite_ the interesting conversation ahead, don't you? I'll leave you to it."

" _Ardyn_ \-- " says Noctis, cold with fury, and Scientia makes a sound in his throat like the death rattle of a wyvern and stumbles backwards to his feet, made clumsy by his distress. He's only _just_ now figured it out, the poor  boy -- sex can have _such_ an inhibiting effect on cognition if one fails to make the proper efforts. Then again, you can't really blame him his lack of foresight; how often does one encounter an exact, identical replica of their lover? 

Loosing the illusion at long last, you allow your eyes, your voice, your hands to show true. "Indeed, your Highness, 'tis I," you say, sweeping into a exaggerated bow. "Forgive me for having made use of your precious belongings, but this one offered himself -- quite insistently, in fact -- and I simply didn't have the _heart_ to refuse."

"He doesn't _belong_ to anyone," spits Noctis. He turns, reaching out to his advisor.  "Ignis -- "

" _No_." Scientia evades his grasp, head bowed, trousers still tented obscenely at the front. The pearlescent white of your seed across his face catches the moonlight, rendering him breathtaking. "Your  Highness -- please."

"It's not your fault, Ignis," says Noctis. "It's his. He _hurt_ you -- "

Scientia's breath erupts in a sob. "If only he had," he says, hoarse and wretched; he meets your eyes, his face fiery red with shame and streaked with tears and semen, and when Noctis reaches for him once more turns and bolts into the forest. Noctis starts after him but then freezes, eyeing you with hatred and distrust.

In response, you hold up your hands: a placating gesture. "Ah, dear Noctis. You've still much to learn about how to rule, it seems. The first mark of a good sovereign: attending to their loyal subjects." You drop the illusion fully, resolving yourself to your full height; Noctis looks so pitifully small from this angle, barely more than a child. Ironic that this boy will be your deliverance, your promised salvation, when he still reeks so painfully of pure, untainted _youth_. "I promise, no further amusement will be had by me tonight, so go  on -- attend to your dear advisor. The boy must be feeling _such_ anguish at having made a cuckold of his king."

Noctis says, quietly and laced with hatred, "You'll pay for this." Then he's off and warping after Scientia, flashes of blue sporadically illuminating the dark forest; moments later you hear, from what sounds like miles away, the cacophony of bitter argument.

Well. 

You can't deny you've forfeit a critical advantage; they'll certainly all be on their guard from now on. Still, you can't quite bring yourself to regret it. You've plenty more tricks up your sleeves, and the strife caused by tonight's actions is more than worth revealing that particular secret. They still have no idea the daemonic energy that seethes beneath your skin, nor the truth behind the royal line of Lucis, nor the price their dear Noctis will ultimately have to pay. 

Crouching down by the abandoned grocery bags, you hoist them up over your shoulders, humming gaily to yourself. You'll pass by the haven on your way back, and you may as well deliver these to their intended location, let the boys know you're looking out for them. After all the fun you've had tonight, it's only fair, isn't it?

**Author's Note:**

> "a., wait, are you saying Ardyn missed his shield so much he raided her tomb and stole a bunch of her bones to carry around with him for 2000 years like a souvenir keychain from NASA?" Pal, it's Ardyn fucking Izunia we're taking about, you bet I fucking am.
> 
> Tumblr (mostly shitposting): [@getintherobot](http://getintherobot.tumblr.com).


End file.
